


Just Like This

by JediMordsith



Series: Captains of Our Own Souls [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: I Jedi - Michael A. Stackpole
Genre: (really) light bondage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Luke needs a hug, Smut, Trust, Trust Kink, mostly cannon compliant?, whoops we accidentally created a Force bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/pseuds/JediMordsith
Summary: Luke is struggling with the aftermath of Byss; Mara helps.Sequel to 'Not Like That'.





	Just Like This

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the middle of "I, Jedi", timeline-wise. Some references and phrasing have been borrowed from that book. 
> 
> Series title is from a Winston Churchill quote. 
> 
> A/N: I write fiction, not how-to guides. (Well, not here on AO3, anyway.) Please do not assume that anything you see in my fics (or anyone else's for that matter) is necessarily endorsed as safe or in any way a good idea. Please research anything you're tempted to try at home at appropriate, RL sources intended for that sort of thing. Please and thank you. : )

“I've failed you.”

Mara's irritated glare was withering – or it should have been. But he was already so sunken and deflated that there was nothing left within him to shrivel.

“Did you not listen to a word I just said?” she demanded, acerbically.

“I heard you.” Luke dropped his head into his hands, elbows digging harder into the tops of his thighs with the added weight. “You're leaving.” The words came out in a miserable rush. “I haven't given you what you need and you're going back to someone who can.”

“That's _not_ what I said.”

“Han and Lando will be here for you in the morning,” Luke's hands fell listlessly between his knees, his head hanging and shoulders sagging in defeat. “To go on a mission for Karrde that you have no idea how long it will take to finish.” _And you haven't so much as hinted that you plan to come back after._ “Obviously you're not getting anything here useful enough to make you stay.”

And _sweet_ _Force_ how he wanted her to stay.

Since his students had arrived and the Academy had formally opened its doors, he'd been plagued by a persistent, oppressive sense of doom approaching. It touched everyone and everything, but none of his meditations or discreet inquiries into potential upcoming galactic melt-down points had given him the tiniest fragment of insight into which direction it would come from – what form it would take.

The only thing that had made any difference was _Mara_. She'd stepped off her Headhunter and the feeling had instantly receded. He'd watched the phenomenon for days, trying to figure out if it was something she was doing intentionally somehow, and was finally struck with the uncanny mental image of a lodestone. It was as if the brume of darkness that haunted him was made of heavy metal filings and Jade were a reverse-polarity magnet. Where she went, the ghostly field of her influence repelled the darkness, creating a bubble in which he could breathe and think. If she left, she would take that with her and he would plunge back into that suffocating morass, with this added burden of having failed her stacked on top – just one more crushing weight in the pile he now bore on his shoulders every waking moment.

The smack of her palm against the back of his head brought Luke's head snapping up. No one had touched him that casually since -.  
  
“ Stop it!” Mara upbraided him. “You didn't fail me, you _succeeded_.” Her lips pursed as she scowled at him. “I leaned what I needed to, here – it just didn't result in the answer you'd hoped for.”

“Nothing does these days,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor as a fresh wash of despair soaked through him, leaving a clammy, dingy feeling in its wake. He felt something in Mara's sense shift and looked up at her again.

She was studying him, head tipped to the side, brow furrowed as if she were reading the diagnostic report on a faulty piece of equipment.

“What?” he asked, glancing down at himself and the space around him, looking for whatever was holding her interest.

“When's the last time you went drinking?”

“I – I'm sorry?” The Jedi Master stared at her, perplexed.

“ _Drinking_ ,” she repeated. “Or out with friends. Or babysat Leia's kids.”

“I don't -.” Luke cut off the rest of the sentence, unwilling to say aloud that he didn't do those things any more. They hurt too much. Just thinking about it was like a stiletto to the chest.

The forced good cheer – as if he couldn't feel the stream of wariness underneath the superficial banter. The well-intentioned questions, loaded with worry. The awkward pats or handshakes from friends who'd been by his side the whole time as he struggled to become a Jedi but who suddenly had no idea what to do with the lost, discordant Master they'd pulled out of Byss. Even Leia – his own _twin_ – felt cautious, as if she didn't know what to do with him most days.

He wanted to bridge the gap – _desperately_. To reclaim as much of who he'd been before the Emperor Reborn had ripped him apart in ways he hadn't known he could be torn. But he was so tired and the divide was so far, and there was that horrible, oppressive, un-pin-downable weight… and, in the dead of night, sitting alone on the pinnacle of the Temple with insomnia gnawing at his bones, he admitted to himself that it was probably better this way. Safer for everyone if he kept his distance, hoarded his pain and crippling shame within himself. There was nothing to be gained by spilling the agony the Emperor had incised into his soul out onto innocent others. He would not see his friends – his family – scarred on his behalf any more than they already were. He would deal with his grief and the afflictions of tortuously slow rehabilitation from his fall to the Dark alone.

Here, on Yavin, he could do it. There was enough remove and enough work to do that he could lose himself in the important but mundane tasks of teaching his students baby steps in the Force. The distance between them was necessary, appropriate; they were students, he the Master. It was just enough of a barrier to keep him in check – keep him from slipping, falling to his knees and begging for something, _anything_ to make him feel like _Luke_ again.

Mara's eyes narrowed. “Skywalker, when is the last time you had a woman?”

_That_ pulled him back out of the slippery slide into crushing depression in a hurry. “ _Excuse me?_ ” he sputtered, too startled to even blush.

“Have. You. Kriffed. Anyone. Since. Byss?” She enunciated the words slowly, her tone pointed.

“That's -.” He was cut off by his comm chirping. He unclipped it, wide eyes still on Mara's shrewdly intent expression as he lifted it. “Skywalker.”

“Master,” Tionne's voice was sweet and respectful. “I'm sorry to disturb you, but Kam, Corran and I have been practicing that technique you showed us this morning. We know we're doing something off, but can't seem to fix it. Could you -?”

“I'll be right there,” he assured her, kindly. Thumbed the device off and clipped it back to his belt. Automatically, he initiated a calming technique in the Force to ward off the sensation of being smothered under the mantle of Master. He refused to think about just how much of every day he spent relying on those techniques just to keep moving, now. To Mara, he said, “I'll be at the landing pad in the morning, to see you off.” He hesitated. Then, because he couldn't help himself, added, “you know you're always welcome here.”

She nodded but said nothing, that odd look still on her face.

Luke dipped his own head in farewell, and then headed over to the Temple garden to assist the others.

\- -

Mara wasn't at dinner.

Luke masked his disappointment and did his best to engage with the others. Although they weren't mandatory, he'd strongly encouraged everyone at the Academy to participate in the shared mealtimes he'd established. He had fond memories of laughing, joking, and connecting with his Squad mates over trays of dubitably edible slop during the Rebellion and was pleased to see similar bonding happening between his students here – even if the food wasn't much better. As Master, his presence was valuable, but that subtle divide between them remained even as he smiled and chuckled over their swapped stories of home and compared notes on various points of galactic interest.

When everything was cleaned up and the weary students separated into twos and threes to head back to their rooms to sleep, Luke trudged back to his spartan quarters on the third level of the ancient pyramid. As the lift approached it's stop, his head cocked. He was the only one assigned to that floor, so it should have been empty, save for the fog of impending doom that permeated his days. Only it wasn't – empty or fogged.

_What is she doing up here?_

A rare moment of curiosity poked a hole in his depression as Luke palmed the sensor pad beside the door and let himself into his rooms. He stopped just inside the door, staring.

“Mara?”

“Lock it, will you?” She nodded at the door behind him.

Luke blinked. Then, because he appreciated the moment to gather himself, turned around and did as she'd requested. When he turned back, a second look confirmed that he had, in fact, seen what he'd thought.

Mara stood beside the plain, all-purpose fiberplast table to the left of his main room. She was barefoot, socks tucked inside the boots she'd set together beneath the table. Above them, laid out on its cleared surface, was a small arsenal of weapons, Mara's belt, and a worn, modestly sized bag of fawn-colored nerf-hide leather. A coil of thin, densely braided rope peeked out of its open top.

“What's all this?” he asked.

“Your turn.”

Luke didn't typically think of himself as slow, but he was decidedly not following tonight. “For what?”

A look of apprehension – no, more than that, panic? mortification? - flickered across her face before she smoothed it away. Her voice was obviously intentionally neutral as she asked, “Do you remember the _Falcon_ on the way to Wayland? When we… were together?”

The Jedi gave a small, involuntary laugh, the humor in it both starkly foreign and refreshing to his parched soul. “You think I could forget?” She bristled at the chuckle and he quickly sent a soothing, slightly apologetic touch through the Force. “Of course I remember. I just -.” _Oh._ He stopped, pulse speeding up as he caught on. _Your turn._

She must have seen or sensed his comprehension, because she nodded. “You helped me expel _him_ from my head – reclaim myself. I thought...” she trailed off, looking uncharacteristically hesitant before finishing softly, “I could return the favor.” Her eyes met his, earnestly. “You need to reconnect, Skywalker. You're not wired to be isolated like this. It isn't good for you. I don't know what he did, but -.” She stopped again, hands clenching at her sides, guilt seeping of her. “I should have been there,” she gritted, self-recrimination heavy in her tone and sense. “I could have -.”

“I didn't want you there,” he cut her off, shaking his head firmly and putting just a touch of the Force on the words for emphasis. “If you'd come for me and he'd hurt you -.” _I'd have fallen beyond even Leia's reach._

Luke felt her shock and winced; he hadn't meant for her to hear that. Why did his shields never work as well against her as they did everyone else? Still, it was true and he had needed someone he could be bluntly honest with for so long.

“The bag?” he diverted from the uncomfortable moment. “And those?” He gestured at the weapons.

“My daily carry,” she explained. “I'm not armed – nothing. And I'll do anything you need. Let you have me any way you want, until Han and Lando get here.” It was her turn to motion toward the bag. “There's stun cuffs, rope, a couple other things in the bag. If… if that's what you need – control. Pain. Anything.” She met his eyes, seriously. “It's all right.”

Luke stared, stunned and disbelieving. He'd been on the receiving end of innumerable creative propositions during the Rebellion, but he'd never had anyone offer him... _that_. And for it to come from Mara, who prized her control so dearly...

“You -.” he swallowed, palms suddenly damp, heart pounding in his chest. “Mara… I'm not… who I was, last time.” _It's so dark inside now._

“Neither am I.”

Her eyes were fixed on his face and Luke got the distinct impression his shields were doing exactly shavit to hide the battle happening inside him. It was all he could do not to fall on her like a man starved, but an insistent thrum of panic beat fluttery and fast alongside his need. He could hurt her. He could show her too much – Force preserve him, if she saw the Dark inside him and recoiled, he wasn't sure he'd survive. His isolation was cold and bitter and _so heavy_ , but if he tried for this and it went bad…

Mara crossed the distance between them, her pace confident but measured. Her hand lifted and pressed flat against the center of his chest, the warmth leaking into him, quietly loosening panic's hold just a fraction. “I trust you. Still. Now. Just like this.” A pause, then, softly, “Luke.”

A boundary wall inside him cracked and he pulled in a lungful of air that felt more like a sob than breath. Without another thought, Luke brought both his hands up to cup her face, tilting her head back and crushing his lips to hers. She responded, rising up on her toes to kiss him back, her arms sliding up around his neck as she parted her lips so he could lick eagerly into her mouth.

Luke groaned, the sound almost one of pain as he slid his right hand back into her hair, fingers weaving themselves into her braid, his blunt nails grazing the back of her scalp as he curled his hand closed over the silk of her fiery tresses. Mara hummed against him and he did it again, the noise vibrating into him, reigniting nerves too long dulled nearly to numbness. His left arm slid down, curving around her waist and dragging her fully flush against him, seeking to pull more of that tingling, vibrant energy into himself.

He hadn't kissed her last time, couldn't have imagined she'd taste like caramelized honey on his tongue. The thought made his lips quirk against hers, even as he continued to plunder her mouth with his own. _So much fire,_ he thought. Even her sweetness wasn't untouched by the flames that burned in her soul. Need coiled tight in his belly and his hand fisted tighter in her hair.

She'd offered him anything and he was going to take it. He had only tonight, but it could be enough. Enough to turn Mara Jade into the living pyre on which he burned away the cloying darkness, numbness, guilt and fear that were eating him alive.

Dragging his mouth off of hers, Luke rested his forehead against her own, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. “Tell me,” he said hoarsely, “that you want this. It's not just a debt you think you owe. _Please._ ”

“I repaid that debt when I killed your evil clone _and_ a mad Jedi Master while you were lounging around in a pile of rocks,” she informed him dryly. Then she ducked her head slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to his throat. There was something unexpectedly vulnerable in her sense when she added quietly in his head, _I haven't been with anyone since you._

Luke shuddered at her touch and the potentially staggering implications of the single sentence. He let go of her just long enough to turn and grab the bag from the table. Then he laced the fingers of his left hand through her right and pulled her with him through the main room to his bedroom. He left the lights off, deciding the dull, faintly orange nocturnal glow reflecting off Yavin's other moons and sifting in through the open windows was enough.

Pulling Mara around, Luke backed her up to the edge of the bed, dropping the bag beside them. Gripping the bottom hem of her tunic, he tugged it up. She lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head and he tossed it over a nearby chair. He ran a fingertip over her shoulder, then down over the tip of her breast, covered only by the wrap she used in place of a bra. Her skin was as soft as he remembered, the feel twice as intoxicating in his current deprived state. She shivered and Luke leaned down to kiss her again, more gently this time, exploring her mouth while he unclasped the wrap and unwound it, balling it up and tossing it aside. He nipped at her lips lightly before dropping to his knees to strip her of her pants. The small black pair of shorts she wore underneath was utilitarian but, he supposed, she hadn't come to Yavin with the intention of seducing him. It didn't matter anyway – he wanted her skin bare and he made quick work of divesting her of that last scrap of fabric before nudging her back onto the bed.

“Turn around.”

“You should shield,” she reminded him as she rotated, arranging herself so that she knelt up on the bed facing away from him.

“Right.” He did, erecting solid shields around both of them in the Force, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the Academy. He put the shields on their own loop of his subconscious, ensuring they'd continue undisturbed regardless of what else happened.

Then he pushed her long braid over her shoulder, fingers caressing the swell of her breast before he pulled back. Mara kept her eyes straight ahead while he rummaged through the bag, coming up with a length of rope. Her shields were lower than usual and Luke felt a current of anticipation from her – anticipation unmarred by even the slightest trace of fear.

_Trust._ She trusted him, completely. The Jedi soaked in it, saturated himself with it. Felt the dried husk that he'd become start to soften, uncurling the smallest bit from it's crumpled form. More. He needed more.

The smooth, tight weave trailed down Jade's creamy skin as, holding the rope in one hand, Luke put his hands on her shoulders and slid them down, drawing her arms behind her. He'd never actually done this before and paused, trying to decide the best position. Mara slid her forearms up, tucking each hand into the opposite elbow in mute suggestion. He felt the brush of her mind, the offer of a mental picture, and he accepted it, letting her silently walk him through a safe and effective tie, winding the rope securely from one elbow to the other in a straight line across her back and tucking in the ends neatly.

The end result was perilously erotic; much more than he'd suspected, and he hastily tugged at his belt, needing to be rid of his clothing. He disrobed in seconds, then leaned over Mara, his hands going around her to cup her breasts in his palms. She made a soft sound and leaned back against him, turning her head to press her cheek against his bare chest. Luke let out a shaky breath at the feel of her pressed against him of her own volition, and dropped his lips to kiss the top of her head. His hands kneaded her full breasts, thumbs rubbing over her hardening nipples.

“No one touches me,” he murmured into her hair. “Not since Byss. Like – like I'm contagious. Or fragile. I'm not. I'm not dangerous. I'm _not_.”

The hatches he'd battened down to keep his pain inside were coming loose and confessions poured out like the emptying of an over-full bilge tank. But he didn't try to stop it this time. Mara _knew._ The Emperor had broken her, too. There was nothing he could tell her she hadn't already survived; nothing she wouldn't understand.

“I'm just the Jedi Master, now. The War Hero. A figurehead, a _thing._ Because it's safer. Because no one knows what to do with _Luke._ ”

“Broken,” she whispered, shifting to press more of her body against him. She was flush against him from shoulder to hip, his erection hard against her back. “They think you're broken.”

“Yes.” Luke ran the rough pads of his fingers over her hardened, rosy peaks one more time before pulling his hands away, moving them to the end of her braid and tugging at the band that held it in place. “But I'm not.” He flung the tie away, starting unraveling her precise plait. “Or I am, but it's fixable. It _has_ to be.”

Mara nodded against him, then tipped her head forward with a soft sigh as he got the braid undone and worked both his hands into her hair at the scalp, reveling in the feel of the long, soft strands as they glided over his fingers. His skin prickled with awareness of it, of her – he'd been deprived of non-fearful touch so long that this – so simple – felt new and divine.

He let himself keep touching her, hands roaming freely over her body, down to caress her thighs and then all the way back up to her scalp, words careening recklessly off his tongue the whole time. He didn't even know what he said, except that his pain was finding vent and every bitter word was like a measure of poison draining from his soul.

Far more important than the words was the feel of Mara under his hands. The places and touches he found that stoked the blaze inside her another notch higher, until she felt like an inferno against him. She wasn't still, now, her body squirming under his attention. Her back was damp with a glimmer of sweat and the sticky, salty fluid leaking from where his hardness was trapped between their bodies. Every rock of her body into and against his demanding hands created a new rasp of friction, a new smear of his arousal against her creamy skin – the sweetest torment ever devised.

Her sense in the Force was his own personal aurora borealis skyfire, alight and alive and _searing_. It wasn't enough.

Luke shifted his weight, bracing one arm at her back – careful of the pressure on her bound arms – and the other behind her knees. In one forward sweep, he had her on her back, her hair spilling across his pillow. He leaned over her, brushing the loose strands out of her face and taking another long kiss, then shifted to kneel beside her head.

Catching his intent, she tipped her head back, her eyes glinting as she opened her mouth greedily. Luke slid a hand into her hair and pushed forward, groaning long and low as she sucked his length as deeply as she could.

“Kriff,” he swore, hips jutting in time with her every hungry slurp. His right hand shook slightly as it slid down her body and found its way back to her thighs. They were sticky with her juices and he trailed his fingers up to rub her folds lightly, to dip between them and circle the hypersensitive nub hidden within. She made a soft mewling noise around a mouthful of him and Luke nearly came undone.

“Take the rest of your shields down.”

Her breath hitched and her eyes darted up to his, worry flashing across them.

“Please, Jade.”

_Ugly in there,_ she managed to say in his head, her eager licking at him faltering. A trickle of something suspiciously like fear escaped with the words _hurt you._

Luke's gut clenched and he thrust two fingers inside her more roughly than he'd intended. Rage threatened to swamp him at the idea that she could have been made to feel that way. That she would – even for a moment – think herself too disfigured to share that intimacy. Her gasp and the way she writhed, pinned on his intruding fingers, drew him back to himself and he released the wrath into the Force. Focused instead on softening his touch, moving into long, easy strokes that elevated the skyfire pouring off of her to a spellbinding conflagration.

“You trust me,” he panted, freeing his hand from her tangled hair to stroke her cheek gently. “Enough to - let me have you – here - like this. Trust me - with this - too.”

There was the sensation of struggling, wrestling, and Luke let his free hand keep stroking her wherever he could reach while she fought to do as he'd asked. He twisted his fingers lazily inside her as he waited, sending a constant stream of his own consciousness washing over her. How good she felt, how much stronger she made him, how desperately he wanted her – all of her.

She made a noise of frustration, clawing at the shields she'd kept up so long they seemed cemented in place. Luke felt her teetering on the edge of tears, unable to make the final break needed to bring them down.

“Jade.” He pulled out of her mouth, tucked a finger under her chin and made her look up at him. Held her eyes, a sapphire fire burning in his own, and said, “You've already ruined me. I haven't been able to bear the thought of touching anyone but you since Wayland.”

Mara's eyes blew wide and she gave a sharp cry, her whole body arching as her shields splintered.

Luke swore colorfully – words Jedi Masters weren't even supposed to know - as he was all but flattened by the impact. Mara was so far past 'want' that the word didn't even apply. She _craved –_ craved _him_. Now, completely.

Ripping his fingers out of her, Luke staggered sideways until he was kneeling between her legs. Slid his hands under her hips and lifted them for a good angle, then thrust his entire length into her hard and fast. Mara keened and Luke thrust again, wrapping his Force presence around hers as if his life depended on it. She hadn't exaggerated – there were sharp edges inside her. Remnants and fragments of her breaking, first by the Emperor and then by his death. Luke pressed his own sense against them, savoring the familiar pain, even as his body soared in pleasure, burying itself messily inside her over and over.

_Like me,_ he thought, hazily. _Broken. But – but not -._

_Luke!_ Mara was there, right at the edge of unbearable pleasure, a white hot blaze on the cusp of consuming everything in its path.

With one final thrust, Luke threw his head back and gave himself over to the immolating ecstasy of their shared climax.

\- -  
  
Luke came to slowly, momentarily confused to find himself flat on his stomach in his bed. He started to push up and moaned softly – he felt like he'd been trampled by a herd of dewbacks. But also… better. More like himself, somehow, than he had since… since before the Reborn Emperor.

Emperor. Mara.

Luke shoved himself all the way up, ignoring the pull and protest of his stiff muscles and the faint soreness in his Force sense – though that was an entirely new sensation, and something he'd have to look into later. The bag that had been sitting beside the bed was gone, as were Mara's clothes.

Luke shot a glance at the window as he snatched his pants off the floor and dragged them on. Warm orange light glowed on the horizon – the sun was coming up. A shock of fear lanced through him – Force, had Han come already? Whisked her away from him before -.

Mara's presence brushed lightly against his own and Luke grasped for it with a flood of relief just as he crossed through the threshold of his bedroom door and caught sight of her.

She was fully dressed in common smuggler's attire, the weapons from the night before removed from the table and reslotted into their usual hidden places on her person. Stowing the recoiled rope in the bag, she fastened it shut and turned to him.

“I was trying not to wake you.”

Her shields were back up but only at half their usual level. Luke caught an echo of the same odd rawness at the edges of her sense that he felt in his own.

“Han commed,” he guessed.

“ _Falcon_ lands in half an hour.” She picked up a mug of caff from the table beside her and took a sip. “How do you feel?”

“Like myself, again,” he said quietly, an ache forming in his chest at the idea of her leaving. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “You'll take care of yourself, now?” she asked, her expression vague but concern clear in her sense. “Those calming techniques you've been using might get rid of anxiety, but they're not doing anything about the underlying causes, you know. They're not a long-term solution.”

He smiled slightly. “They were that obvious?”

“Only to me.” _Because I tried it, too._

Luke caught a trace of memory – Talon, politely and professionally chiding Mara with essentially the exact same thing she'd just said to him.

“I'll make some changes,” he promised. He wanted to say something else, but words eluded him.

“Good.” Mara slung her bag over her shoulder and walked to his little kitchenette, putting her mug neatly in the sink. Turning back, she let her eyes slide over him again, as if securing the picture in her memory. “If you need… something, you know how to find me.”

The ache in Luke's chest lessened and he crossed to her. Taking one of her hands, he pushed the sleeve up, grimacing slightly at the reddened skin that still bore faint outlines of the rope's weave.

“I can heal it enough to get rid of the marks while I'm grabbing my other bag,” she assured him. “There'll be nothing left to see by the time Solo and Calrissian land.”

“Mara...” Again, Luke sought words that did not wish to come. He lifted clear blue eyes to hers. “Will you come back?”

“To train?” She frowned slightly. “Maybe. When I've finished working through what I need to with Talon and my responsibilities to him.”

“To _me,_ ” Luke corrected, quietly, his thumb stroking over her palm gently. “Just... to me.”

“Skywalker -.”

Luke flinched, and felt a stab of guilt from Mara that she rapidly smothered.

“Luke,” she tried again, softly. “You saw.” She gestured toward her chest. “The damage. I'm not sure -.”

But he'd stopped listening to her words because what he felt through her half-shields told him everything he needed to know. Stepping forward, he slid his arms around her, pulling her in and kissing her like he had the night before, coaxing her lips apart to give him a fresh taste of her caramelized honey sweetness.

Then he stepped back, leaving her startled and scrambling to bury a pang of longing.

“Clear skies, Jade.”

She nodded, silently, and disappeared out his door. An hour later, the _Falcon_ winked into hyperspace, carrying her off to the stars. From the pinnacle of the Temple, Luke watched – not just the ship's lights, but the bright little flame inside him. As the ship hit hyperspace, it flickered and dimmed. But it didn't disappear.

Grinning, Luke started back down. The rest of the Academy was rousing and there'd be classes to teach soon. The weight of his responsibilities settled on his shoulders more heavily with each step but today they all felt more bearable.

Because somehow, in pressing himself onto the jagged shards of Mara's sense in the moments before they peaked together, Luke had punctured a hole in his soul. A hole she now spilled through. It was just tiny little pilot light, nestled in the core of his heart, but it was enough to stave off the darkness that pulled at him. Enough to ground him and restore his spirits when they flagged.

And, most importantly, enough to bring her back.


End file.
